ohhhh the goodness...and how it connects to bringing in the sexy

This is the loot from our first delivery from Tiny's Organics. Oh my...such delicious goodness.

two types of plouts, apples, arctic snow nectarines, salad mix, red chieftain potatoes, corn red chard, celery, carrots, and beets

oh my

I found myself eating a healthy lunch of celery with peanut butter (and some raisins because you need those) and a flavor rich (or was it the flavor king) pluot. Not some random thing that I found in the kitchen that is so not very good for me but I am starving and it is 3pm and I haven't eaten a thing yet. That is my usual way of getting through the day.

We will receive a big box of stuff just like this every Thursday. And each Thursday, I will probably scratch my head a bit about what to do with a few things...just like I did yesterday. So this is where you come in...

Thoughts on what to do with:
chard
beets
(or any of the rest of the stuff)

I don't think I had ever even seen chard (or noticed it at least) until yesterday.

And one more angle just so I can show off our new appliances. There is a pizza button on the microwave (and it works). Wish I had a before picture. Then you would really understand why we are so happy about it...

{oh and yes...the part about bringing the sexy in...last week i mentioned at the end of my monday post that hanky pankies are the first step to bringing in the sexy. well, eating a bit healthier, feeling a bit lighter, feeling good about what i am putting in my body...that is another step.}

a witness {poetry thursday}

This week, I have been spending time with Sharon Olds and the poems in her book The Father. If you have been stopping by here on Thursdays over the last few months, you have probably noticed that I tend to share poetry I have written about my grandmother and sometimes about her death. I haven't really found a "voice" to talk to her as I am living my life and she is no longer alive. When I reach for the phone to call her and then remember she is dead, I don't start talking to her anyway. At least not yet. (Though when I was cleaning my home office/studio a few weeks ago and kept running across letters from her/pictures of her in the oddest places I did start talking to her. "Janet, I have had about enough of this.") It is through my poems that I am finding my voice and addressing her. She is the "you" in my poetry.

Some people have mentioned that it must be healing to write about her. I am not sure I see it as healing. Though do we realize we are healing when we are or do we just notice it later? I don't know. One idea that has to come to me lately is this: By writing about her, I am a witness that she existed. She was a woman who didn't have many friends, she spent most of her days in her home, she wasn't close with many people, and she had a tendency to alienate others. But she changed my life. She taught me about laughter and acceptance and finding little joys in living a quiet life. It saddens me that it seems she didn't really teach anyone else these things. I am the one who experienced this side of her. And I can be her witness to share these pieces of her.

I also feel that writing/talking/sharing grief has to happen. We do not do this enough in our culture. I am almost bizarrely fascinated with it. I want to talk and talk and talk about my experience. I want to listen and learn from the experiences of others. And poetry has become a vehicle for both of these things.

The book of Olds’ poetry that I have been reading this week is all about her father, his illness, and his death. How to explain the feelings that come up as I read her words?

Before my grandmother died, I did not understand stories of people falling on the casket sobbing or someone pretending a loved one was still alive and talking to that person as though she is sitting across the dinner table with them, even when others are in the room. During my uncle’s funeral, his casket remained open. A song was played over the speakers while we all sat their quietly. My aunt stood up and went to the casket. I remember thinking, “does she know we all can see her?” I realize now that I was simply embarrassed by the intimacy of the moment. Goodness. Now I realize the last thing you are thinking about when standing looking at someone you love who is in a casket is what others are thinking about. This doesn’t matter much when you have lost a part of your heart.

After my grandmother died, I suddenly understood why people do all that they do that we cannot understand when “dealing with” the loss of someone they love. Sharon Olds writes about this in a way that has me nodding through my tears. I am fascinated by her words, her images, her truth. And, I suppose, I am also healed by reading.

To hear Sharon Olds read a poem from this book, visit poets.org via this link.

*****

edited in 2011: Poetry Thursday is referenced throughout my blog in 2006 and 2007. It was a community website where participants shared a love of poetry through their blogs as they posted their own poems and poetry by others on Thursdays. 

the good girl {self-portrait challenge}

After I read Michelle’s post last week, I began listen to the whisper inside my head that said, “let’s not spend time with all those imperfections.” I have spent the last two months encouraging myself and others to spend time looking in the mirror to embrace the “imperfections.” And it feels not-so-healthy to spend time dwelling on “Look, the tissues with lotion I have been using for my cold have invited two nice little pimples to live on the end of my nose. All ready for Halloween kids.” and other such fun thoughts.

So I am tweaking this challenge a bit and continuing what I started earlier this year when SPC gave us the challenge of “all of me.” I am embracing the imperfections that make me who I am. Last week I started with envy: Admitting I feel envy and owning that I think envy is part of being human.

This week, I admit to you that I am…simply…the good girl.

This is a picture of me from high school*. As some of you know, I went to boarding school. We had uniforms and nametags and a leadership system where the girls were prefects (yes, like Harry Potter). I was a good girl in high school. I never got in trouble. Nope. Not once. This isn’t to say I was perfect, but the few times I “broke the rules,” I did not get caught. When I went back to work at this boarding school I didn’t tell my students that their counselor had been “one of those” girls who never received an infraction. (If only my dorm mother had noticed my “I spent the night with Kenny Rogers” kilt pin or the non-reg green henley I used to wear under my blue oxford. Scandalous I know.) Most of my friends were “good girls” too so it was pretty easy to avoid breaking the rules.

I remember a friend saying to me, “when you are 25 I imagine you pulling up in my driveway on the back of a Harley with some older man your parents would not so much approve of.” Well, at 25 I did pull up…but in Honda Civic…with an older man…who is a teacher, a science teacher. Still the good girl.

I don’t want to list all the things that make me the good girl because, well, you might think I haven’t lived much. I appreciated Neil’s post yesterday (that included a longer version of this meme). And I admit that I wouldn’t be checking many of those boxes. Nope.

In college, I remember sitting on the floor of my apartment reading SARK’s piece about how “the good girlfriend must die” in Succulent Wild Woman. It resonated deeply with me. She says, “The ‘good girlfriend’ always knows what to bring to a potluck…doesn’t say fuck…looks sexy, but doesn’t live in her body…makes sure things are pleasant…always has effortless and pleasing orgasms.” Society’s image of the perfect woman who does it all and does it with a smile on her face letting you step right on her because you don’t see her at all.

Is this being the good girl?

I have wrestled with this idea throughout my adult life. I can be very in touch with the anxiety that surfaces about bringing the right/buying the right/wearing the right/having the right “thing.” I can be quite the stress-queen if I spend too much time looking at catalogs or watching HGTV. Do I HAVE to have THAT to be accepted?

I push back against the idea that dinner should be waiting for my husband when he gets home and I should be in charge of making all plans and so on. This became especially true when I started working from home but wasn’t yet working full time. I was here. Why wasn’t I keeping the house clean/making dinner/going to the grocery store/paying the bills on time? My husband never said he had this expectation, but my fear was big enough to start making assumptions about my “new” role. I had to realize that sometimes I push back to an extent that I forget we simply do these things for one another because we love one another.

I am bringing up two different ideas, but I think they are intimately connected. When we are younger our parents want us to be good girls. “Please be a good girl,” they tell us as we walk into a nice store, sit down in a nice restaurant, get ready to visit the relatives. Be a good girl. And that was easy for me. I will be good, quiet, behave, sit where told, smile, listen quietly while the adults talk, not swear, keep my skirt down, and on and on. And as we get older, we start to realize society also has expectations for how we can be the good girlfriend/woman/wife/mother/professional and on and on.

Somewhere along the way, you realize that there are many shades to being the good girl. And one day you realize, you are really always the good girl. Even when you say “fuck,” or forget to keep your skirt down, or get really drunk, or inadvertently hurt someone’s feelings, or bring attention to yourself, or make a lot of mistakes, and so on.

I want to propose a new way of looking at this. A new understanding of what being “a good girl” means. I recognize that the term “good girl” may not resonate with everyone. However, I think it is a phrase we all know; especially when we hear the voice of a parent say, “Be a good girl.” Imagine if our parents had said, “Be your best self.” What would this mean?

To be your best self is to do the best you can each day and honor that sometimes the best you can do isn’t what you hoped to do but the best you can do all the same.
To be your best self is to listen to the voice inside you.
To be your best self is to push yourself to be more than you ever thought you could be.
To be your best self is to speak your mind and shares your feelings while being aware of others.
To be your best self is to invite yourself to let go of the expectations of others to realize that you alone must own your journey.
To be your best self is to make a lot of mistakes, and even wallow in the bad choices for a bit, but eventually try to identify the lessons and then go about learning from them.
To be your best self is to admit you are not perfect and then to set out on an adventure of acceptance.

To be your best self…

I ask you: What would you add to this list? What does this mean to you?

(*yes, i am leaning against a statue of an indian. statues like this are everywhere on my boarding school's campus.)

*****

updated in 2011: Self-Portrait Challenge (SPC) was a website that encouraged people to take and share self-portraits. I am sad to report that it no longer has an active website, so I have removed links that appeared in the posts connected to my participation in this project.

good evening monday {october 9}

(have tried to post this several times. sorry to those of you who have bloglines etc. blogger and i are, shall we say, fighting.)
updated morning of 10/10 - second link in reading below now directs you to the great crafty blog two straight lines

singing

tina turner (all the best – the hits). how can you not feel better when you hear her sing? how can you not sing? how can you not get up and shake your groove thing?

watching

a very interesting movie called In My Country. so sad, but so good.

(and now this is the part where i admit to how much tv I have been watching lately)

Boston Legal (oh how I love the music)

john stamos on ER. i haven’t really been into this show for years (they lost me when dr. romano's (sp?) arm was sliced off by the helicopter. remember? it was so disturbing i jumped up from the couch and yelled scarying jon and traveler like I had been bit by something), but here i am watching it again. i kind of heart john stamos.

the opening scene of last thursday’s grey’s anatomy had me doing this kind of moan, giggle, oh my god sound. jon was watching from the kitchen like, “what is your problem. oh that damn patrick dempsey must be on the screen.” (when i was watching chris o’donnell in those batman movies, i would have never thought he would have me blushing in prime time.)

the “hot topics” on the view. yes. at 10 am a few times a week i tune in to see what rosie and the girls are talking about. i then turn it off. i loved watching rosie's show when i was in college and i am glad she joined this show. today though i had to mute elizabeth talking about her support of the war and george bush. it does take it’s own form of bravery to speak up when no one agrees with you, but man, i sure don’t agree with her. (well, maybe it really isn't courage when you are getting paid well and get to wear amazing clothes and are married to an NFL football player and and and all that stuff. maybe it is just...okay...this is not a political blog.)

battlestar galatica. such a good season premiere. but i said to jon that if there isn’t some glimmer of hope by the third episode, even if it is super tiny, i might not make it through this season. this show is so timely. as entertainment weekly mentioned, it is very post-9/11 and YOU should be watching it.

all the episodes of weeds so far this season. in one sitting.*

reading

this blog. jerri has me laughing and being introspective, at the same time.

this blog. love all the crafty ideas and the way she writes.

and this blog. very inspired by the letter to the self on 10/6.

creating/making/cooking
(had to expand this category a bit)

a three-bean chili with some chicken and buffalo (if you come visit i will be happy to make it sans meat).

sketching some new ideas for things i want to make. (yes, me…sketching. how much fun can one girl have?)

finishing up my package for the tea towel swap.

enjoying

watching those boys play notre dame football on saturdays.

my new sweater from j.jill.

eating

homemade hummus. i love my own the best (i must admit).

trader joes veggie corn dogs (yep, alexandra said they were good and she wasn’t kidding).

drinking

do you need to ask? of course…pumpkin spice soy lattes.

cranberry juice and ginger ale (i always drink this when i am sick).

mug after mug of tea.

anticipating

diving into the poems of sharon olds.

our first delivery from yesterday morning’s scary experience.

thinking

about how important it is to be gentle with other’s feelings. yet i sometimes wonder why people seem to forget this when they talk to me but expect me to remember it all the time. (i know this isn’t really true, but i am just thinking about it.)

about the sirens and commotion millie and i heard at 1 a.m. when i was just getting ready to close my laptop and head to bed. it was happening down the street and kind of scary. I woke jon up when the motion detector light went off in the back. we didn’t investigate outside, but made sure everything was locked up. hopefully tonight’s night of sleep will be stress-free.

loving

this autumn weather. candles burning, warm sweaters, knee socks, still warm enough to have the windows open a bit, pumpkins. just love it!

warm, fuzzy socks.

finding the gratitude in my life every day.

*a phone call interrupted me from a nap on Friday. now usually i hate phone calls that wake me up. not usually, always. i feel confused and vulnerable and thick-tongue-tied. but the caller id said our power/cable company, so i answered thinking, “did i forget to pay the bill?” it was a recording saying, “this weekend you have a free preview of showtime…includes on demand…” i woke right up and turned on the tv and started watching this season of weeds. oh how I love that show. this just made my weekend! (and yes, i did watch all eight in a row. that is what you get to do when you are sick and your husband has to work late and you don’t really know anyone in your town so you wouldn't have had any plans on a friday night anyway.)

October 8, 2006 (or sorry my posts are so long lately...)

12 a.m. I turn off the light after sketching a few designs for a new craft project.

5 a.m. I suddenly wake up because of a tightness in my lungs. My nose can be a super sleuth sometimes and my first brief thought was that I was simply smelling the smell you might notice when you use the fireplace for the first time in the fall (which we had done a last night). Because I am still a little under the weather, I dismiss the thought and started to fall back to sleep. I think a bit about how the heater had just kicked on and maybe that was part of it. I close my eyes.

5:07 a.m. The tightness in my lungs is significant. So I get up. And walk down our little hallway to the kitchen/family room. To a room full of pretty thick smoke. I check for fire and notice the smoke billowing in from the two inch opening in the glass doors in front of the fireplace. I yell for Jon (and probably scared him more than he wants to admit) and start opening the sliding glass door and windows. He goes to the fireplace and starts breaking up the “fake” Duroflame log we had used the night before. He first checked the damper; it was still open. He started feeling the wall and it wasn’t hot. The smoke was still thick. We still have two fans out from the summer in the house (because we never put things where they go…like out in the garage when it is cold enough for a fire in the fireplace), so we got them going to get rid of the smoke.

5:15 a.m. I call my dad because I figure he is the only person I know awake on a Sunday morning. With the time change I could be sure of it. He agrees with us but is worried about a chimney fire. Jon goes outside and checks the chimney. Of course, it is dark here but he feels it and it isn’t hot. No flames coming from it. So we open up every single window in the house.

5:25 a.m. Millie looks at us like “are you kidding me? all this excitement and you aren’t even gonna let me out to do my business?” Jon takes Millie outside.

5:30 a.m. We get back in bed. I, of course, bring my laptop because I am wide awake!

{Note: The log didn’t really “work” right last night. Not sure how to explain but it never really began the nice usual, although brief, nice roaring fire. At this point we realize 1) we could have broken up the log before going to bed, 2) it smoldered all night and the fire wasn’t hot enough to push the smoke up the chimney and the cold air starting coming in and pushing the smoke down; when the heater kicked on and affected this all somehow [or something – this is the fuzzy part], 3) the smoke alarm did not go off, 4) we are lucky to be alive, 5) we are going to get the chimney professionally cleaned, and 6) we need to change the filter in the furnace.}

5:35 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. I start blogging in bed. During this time, Jon wakes up several times to complain that it is as though the sun is in the bedroom (aka my laptop screen). I find a great meme at DebR's and figure I might as well post in my blog since I am up. I change clothes and put on several layers and look for a hat to wear because I am freezing. I don't find a hat in the bedroom so I get back in bed and pull my turtleneck over my nose. Jon wakes up and thinks I have the turtleneck over my nose because he is breathing in my face. Nope. I email Lynn to ask if I can come over later to escape this freezing cold smoke-filled place we call home. I find lots of inspiration at the craft blogs I have started reading. I get two more blankets for our bed and snuggle closer to Jon (and Jeero, Moxy, and Babo – our uglydolls) with my laptop. My dad calls to check on us.

8:35 a.m. I close my laptop because my eyes are drooping. I put my laptop at the foot of the bed and wake Jon up to tell him not to kick it off the bed. (Has to be one of the oddest moments of the day. Totally something I would do but totally rude to wake him up. But I was so cold that nothing was getting me out of that bed.)

At some point after I fall asleep my mom calls the first of two times. She has no idea about what happened and just wants to chat about things she is finding as she is cleaning the basement. Ahhh…hello people…it is early here. This happens to us a lot on the weekends. People back "east" call us early when we are sleeping in. I want to gently say, "It was 3 a.m. your time when we went to bed." (It is okay. I know, I know, I don't have to answer the phone but I always do.)Even though it isn’t as early as it was when I was first awake it is still early. After I hang up with my mom, I blog a bit more. Then go back to sleep. She calls again. Jon gets up. I go back to sleep after agreeing that no, I dont' want the (very cheap) train set that I bought for my brother one Chrismas and stayed up late putting it together so that when he woke up in the morning there would be a train set running around the tree.

11:00 a.m. I finally get up. I blog some more.

11:11 a.m. Lynn emails me back and says, “come over.” We email a few times to confirm.

11:28 a.m. My friend Missy calls and we briefly talk. (Hi Missy.)

11:45 a.m. I finally get out of bed and get ready and to go to Lynn’s.

12:30 p.m. I gather my stuff to leave. My husband stays behind because he is worried that there could be a fire. I leave him grading at the dining room table where he is wearing flannel pajama pants and a hooded sweatshirt. He is wearing the hood. I get into my car and turn up the heat! I talk to my friend Rebecca on the drive to Lynn’s; it is her birthday. (Hi Rebecca. Come visit out here to see if you guys might want to move here. We have the mountains AND the ocean.) I also chat with my friend Heather who helps me through a mini-crisis.

1:30 p.m. I get to Lynn’s and LoveShack’s home (they live about an hour from us) and they both tell me they are glad Jon and I are okay. (me too.)

The rest of the afternoon I have a really good time with Lynn but have no idea of the time. In no particular order, over the next few hours: We chat and laugh and I eat some Cheese Nips. Lynn introduces me to the nitty-gritty of how bloglines work (yes, I have been blogging for a year and don’t subscribe to something like this). I like it. I contemplate using bloglines and maybe even getting rid of my blog roll (because the only reason I have one is to have a lot of the blogs I like to read in one place so I can access them from any computer). I explain my concerns about how blog rolls accidentally seem to hurt people’s feelings. (In my mind I think about how it is kind of like that moment when the drama teacher posts who made the play and you watch the person next to you look for her name and run her finger down the entire page. and she doesn’t find it.) Lynn and I talk about Poetry Thursday. We brainstorm prompt ideas and she tells me about the one we decide to use for today. I love it. We spend some time talking to Tater (Lynn’s hamster) and I call coo and try not to squeal too loudly about how cute tater is. We talk about sex and orgasms and bad experiences at the doctor and how teachers talked about sex when we were in grade school. I teach Lynn about imdb.com. Lynn makes me laugh. I decide I need to eat lunch. Even though Lynn is in the middle of today’s PT post and wants to finish it, she feels bad that I am starving and, even though it is out of character for her, pauses finishing her post (I don’t think that girl likes to leave things unfinished). We go to the kitchen and get stuff together to eat lunch. We realize it is 4:30 p.m. LoveShack come and eats something to and we have an interesting conversation about moms. I call Jon and he tells me he thinks the odor is getting better in the house. Lynn and I go to Ross Dress for Less and she buys three t-shirts and I buy a very soft green blanket for Jon to thank him for staying behind and keeping the house safe. We go back to Lynn’s house.

7:20ish p.m. I leave to head back to my house.

7:23ish p.m. I take a wrong turn and end up going up, up, and up this huge hill. Bet it is pretty in the day time. I turn around and head back in the right direction after about two minutes. I don’t panic.

7:30 p.m. I eat a piece of string cheese.

7:40 p.m. I call Jon to tell him I am on my way home and he talks to me for a while because I am kind of sleepy. The string cheese kicks in and I am awake and hang up and then sing all the way home.

8:20 I get home. The smell is better. So much better. Thank goodness. We close all the windows but one and turn up the heat (don’t worry, Jon did run the heat during the day at different points so he didn’t freeze to death).

8:30 p.m. I change back into the layers of clothes I had on earlier and put on my favorite wrist warmers (given to me by acumamakiki). Jon makes me some soup for dinner. I start to worry about North Korea. Mille stares at me until I let her up on the couch. I start up my laptop and check my email.

8:45 p.m. I eat soup and finish up some editing.

10:00 p.m. I watch Without a Trace while reading a few blogs and answering some emails.

11:10 p.m. I start writing this post.

11:50 p.m. I write down five things for which I am grateful today. You can probably guess at least one if not all of them.

a meme (because i'm up at 5:00 a.m. and not happy about it*)

i am wandering blogs in the wee small hours of the morning on a sunday when the whole wide world should be fast asleep. because. well, because it is sunday. and even if you have a sunday morning commitment, there is no reason you should be up yet...
and while wandering around, spotted this meme at DebR's and thought, "why not!?!"

the catch is you can only answer the questions with "yes" or "no." and that, my friends, was not easy for me. i like giving commentary about my life. yep.

but here we go...

Have you ever:
1. Taken a picture completely naked? no
2. Danced in front of a mirror naked? yes
3. Told a lie? yes
4. Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back? yes
5. Been arrested? no
6. Seen someone die? yes
7. Kissed a picture? yes
8. Slept in until 5pm? no
9. Had sex at work (on the clock)? no
10. Fallen asleep at work/school? yes
11. Held a snake? no
12. Ran a red light? yes
13. Been suspended from school? no
14. Pole danced? no
15. Been fired from a job? no
16. Sang karaoke? yes
17. Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? yes
18. Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? yes
19. Laughed until you peed? no
20. Caught a snowflake on your tongue? yes
21. Kissed in the rain? yes
22. Had sex in the rain? no
23. Sang in the shower? yes
24. Gave your private parts a nickname? no
25. Ever gone to school/work without underwear? no
26. Sat on a roof top? no
27. Played chicken? no
28. Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? no
29. Broken a bone? no
30. Flashed someone? yes
31. Mooned someone? no
32. Shaved your head? no
33. Slept naked? yes
34. Blacked out from drinking? yes
35. Played a prank on someone? yes
36. Had a gym membership? no
37. Felt like killing someone? yes
38. Cried over someone you were in love with? yes
39. Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? yes
40. Been in a band? no
41. Shot a gun? no
42. Shot a bow and arrow? yes
43. Played strip poker? no
44. Donated Blood? yes
45. Ever jump out of an airplane? no
46. Been to more than 10 countries? no

there you have it. like DebR, i am a bit perplexed by the 46 things. hmmm.
if you feel like playing along, join in!

happy wee-hours-of-the-morning sunday to you.

*i will explain why i am up later. we are safe and sound but it has already been an interesting day and i have only been awake for 65 minutes.

a pumkin spice latte served with...well...a lot of happiness

living out here in the pacific northwest, next door to the hometown of the flagship store, my husband and i sometimes comment on the fact we feel surrounded by starbucks. when we first moved here in 2004, we would count them when we spent a day up in seattle. there are several places where there are two a block away from one another. it is, simply, unbelievable. jon and i crack ourselves up sometimes, “there’s one!” “wait, there’s one!”

recently, someone told me that people call starbucks, “six bucks.” (who told me that?) it is true. it is hard to leave starbucks without spending more money than one should ever need to for a cup of coffee. this morning, i ordered a grande pumpkin latte with soy and an apple fritter (they were out of pumpkin doughnuts…sad, sad). it was over $6. not kidding.

i believe in the idea that it is important to support the locally owned places. and we do. when you come to visit, we will spend a few hours in the cozy mandolin café, drinking coffe or tea (or wine) and eating scrumptious pieces of cake or huge cookies or even a delicious salad. we will solve the problems of the world because that is simply what one does there. the ambiance is incredible. there is free wi-fi. i spend an afternoon working there every few weeks and i know i should go there to write. it is a good place to get lost in your own words…or the words of someone else. they support local artists and musicians play almost nightly. it really is an incredible neighborhood café. but it is expensive too. the prices are about the same as starbucks. and if you eat a panini or one of their salads or a piece of quiche…the total quickly increases. that is okay by me because i appreciate paying a little extra for ambiance and the “free” wi-fi. but you aren’t saving any money by going there. still, supporting the local places like this one is an easy choice.

so here is my question. since moving here, one thing jon and i notice every time we go to starbucks is that the employees there are just about the happiest people we have ever met. have you noticed this too? they look you right in the eye and say welcome or how are you or great to see you today – every. single. time. they are lauging and making jokes with one another. they know the names of their customers. i have not doubt that if i went to the same starbucks weekly they would learn my name. they are always smiling. it is kind of weird. i can’t believe how happy they seem. every single time at every single starbucks. from the one in the mall to the one in the stadium at the university of washington to the one in the airport to the ones with the super nice couches and fireplace near alki beach. it is bizarre. i can be kind of grumpy, under the weather, haven’t showered, starving, and on and on (like this morning) and within seconds i am smiling. and i am not treated any differently whether i have my dirty hair in a Notre Dame baseball cap and am not wearing any make-up or if jon and i stop in after eating out and are dressed up.

i saw the ceo/owner/whoever that guy was of starbucks on 60 minutes earlier this year. he talked about the employee benefits and how good they are etc. hmmm…could something as simple as employee benefits make these people this happy?

i am currently editing a project about ethics in law enforcement and there is this section about using the image of being videotaped to help you decide how you should react to a situation. meaning, even though you feel alone in the moment you are faced with a decision, would your decision be any different if you knew you were going to be caught on film and others would see your actions? this makes me wonder: are the employees of starbucks being videotaped by the happy police?

i don’t know what it is, but i have to admit that i like it. i enjoy being greeted by the smiling faces of people who act like they genuinely want to make my day. it makes me feel, dare i admit it, special. i like that the young man who took my order this morning took the time to look at my name on my debit card so that he could tell me to have a nice day while using my first name. i like that, even though there was a short line of people, he still took the five extra seconds to do this.

i will still go to my favorite local spots and support the “little guy.” but when i am out and about, i admit that going to starbucks can be a good thing. for me. they serve up slight shifts in attitude and smiles with their lattes.

a poem for poetry thursday

Today I am sick, working from bed all day. Millie keeps coming in somtimes cuddling with me on the bed, sometimes looking at me with an "are you really staying in there all day?" expression. My post for Poetry Thursday is late. But I didn't really start writing this poem until this afternoon, when a sudden connection danced across my brain. It is still a draft, but I decided to share it here. It needs to be set free into the world and not trapped in my heart. 

Untitled

She opens the door and motions us down the hall.
As we walk, she says,
we had to put him on oxygen.
He pulls his face out of the mask,
looks into my eyes, reassured by my presence.
Or so I believe because he cannot tell me.
How much time?
I say, stroking his forehead.
He is suffering, be quick.
I whisper in his ear,
then nod.
Seconds pass as he looks into my eyes.
I stroke his forehead,
his eyes slowly droop.
She nods.
He is gone.
Sobbing, I lay over his body.

Today I think about you.
Wondering about those last seconds
when you were dying,
when they couldn’t fix you.
And I rage inside
at you
at God
at them.
I wanted to be there.
I wanted to stroke your forehead
and whisper in your ear.
Though the moment would have been greater
than a nod from one person
and an IV full of finality,
I wanted to be there.

She leads us back to the room.
A few minutes later they bring him to us.
I run my hands down his back and legs
wanting to feel every inch,
memorizing.
Touching his face, nose, neck,
removing his collar,
folding up the blanket
that cradled his body in the last moments.
I catch myself mesmerized by the stillness
of a body that would usually react to any touch.
Today, I wish I would have spent more time,
stroking, praying, wishing,
but then I was thinking,
they need the room.

A few hours after they wheeled you
out of the chapel, I was softly crying
(knowing my role was to be composed),
aching for the honor
of looking into your face
when the doctor nodded.
My aunt said to me,
we would have never gotten you out of that room.
I admit she might be right.
I might still be standing beside you,
stroking your forehead,
mesmerized by the stillness of your body.
And if someone said, m’am we need the room,
I would not move,
no,
I would just stroke your forehead
wishing you to breathe
just once more.